Envisioned
by lookitsmonkin
Summary: Max awakens to find herself in a strange place with no recollection of what happened to her. But Chloe is ever present by her side, even if it is only in Max's dreams.
1. Day 1

Day 1

There are two things that make me certain I am losing my mind: I feel as though I left something incredibly important unfinished and I feel as though I am constantly dreaming. If that weren't enough, I am plagued by visions. Not anything akin to hallucinations, rather powerful thoughts and images. I have wondered if they are, perhaps, memories.

When I sleep, I hear strange sounds. There are conversations and what seems to be a beast breathing. This beast only exhales, violent and raspy, rhythmic in nature. I can never move nor do I see anything. I always wake up drenched in sweat, with that anxious feeling that I have forgotten something.

The doctors say I should relax. I am not certain I have a choice. I am confined to my room and they ensure a steady supply of drugs. No, I know what you're thinking. My problems are not a result of these mysterious medications. What little coherency is allowed to me tells that my daily inoculations and confinement are a result of my issues.

I cannot remember life before this place. The last thing I do remember is lights, lots of lights. They were all colors; red, yellow, blue and so on. They were impossibly bright. And there were loud, terrifying noises, like metal scraping on metal and a dull thumping roar. Next I know, I am sitting in this chair. The doctors say I was brought here to rest and what I just described is not a memory at all. I don't believe them. I never do. I don't trust them. I think they're crazy.

Sometimes this room gets to me, with its four walls and blank white stare. I draw pictures with crayons, because that's all I am permitted. I tape them to the walls for a little color. The bed is pushed in the back corner next to the little lone window my chair faces. My desk is opposite my bed with all of my crayons and notebook paper. Then there's the door. The door is perpetually locked, except for when the doctors or the lady comes through.

The lady visits sometimes. She brings fresh gowns for me and takes away my dirty ones. All I wear are white (like the walls) night gowns. I suppose I am not trying to impress anyone. But we sit and talk. She likes to ask about my visions and dreams. We like to believe they are of my life before this place. She's the only one I have ever divulged the privileged information of the blue haired girl. But that is neither here nor there and I am getting ahead of myself. We avoid the fact that none of the people in my visions have ever come to visit. Maybe, they don't know I am here. But, the lady is a wonderful diversion to break up the monotony.

Right now, I am looking out of my window as I write. It is awfully beautiful. It always is. The sky is so blue and the sun shimmers brilliantly off the sea as the tide comes and goes. The sound of seagulls permeates the air, always calling to one another. The sandy shore looks so creamy, like the sand would be soft as silk. I imagine sometimes that I am picking up a handful of it, warm from the sun and it tickles my hand as I let it fall through my fingers. As lovely as it is though, I never see anyone on the beach.

One of my visions is of a different coast. There are trees, not entirely unlike palm trees, in contrast to the shoreline here. This shoreline is just sand and water forever. People swim and sunbathe in my vision. Everyone is so happy. The scent of warm salt lingers in the air as I am accompanied by people I believe may be my friends. These people have been present in other visions as well. This is why I think these must be memories. The doctors say it is my mind "filling in". I don't know what that means.

The most common theme in my visions is of the girl afore mentioned; the blue haired girl. She is always there, smiling and laughing. But her lovely blue eyes bear a burdened sort of sadness, ever daunting as though she has lost the unspeakable. Her name is Chloe Price. I know I loved her, and I love her still. When I see her, dream of her, my heart flutters in my chest, light like a feather drifting on the summer breeze from the ocean outside my window. But even amongst the feelings of passion, there is a sense of loss, like that floating behind my Chloe's eyes. Something is wrong, something is gone. It is the thing I have forgotten. And it seems my lucid dreaming has brought her to life in the most violent way imaginable, forceful and unreal. Desperately I reach for her, longing to remember what has been lost to the tides of time.

Her name is the only one to come to my lips. Perhaps she is an imagined character, but she gets me through these long days, ever by my side. The others in my mind remain nameless in their existence. But not she and I dare not speak of her to the doctors. I could not stand them refuting her reality.

Sometimes I imagine I can reverse time. I'd love to see what stands on the other side of the door to my past, now closed to my eyes. I like to imagine I came from a coastal town, small and full of drama. Can you imagine? Everyone knows everyone and gossip is abound. Maybe my town holds a dark secret, but nothing interesting ever happens in Arcadia Bay.

Arcadia Bay. I made you up, but you sound so real. And like Chloe, I am fraught with sadness when I think of that place. Something is missing, making it incomplete. I've told the doctors of Arcadia Bay. This is the only topic in which they simply write in their pads and say nothing. I've often wondered what this means. They always have something to say about my visions, but not Arcadia Bay.

Where do I go from here? I want to start documenting my stay here so I know what is real and what is not. I will hide this journal under my mattress so they cannot find it and perhaps with time I will start to achieve some clarity beyond these vile medications. I have a session today. I will try to remember all I can and record it for you, oh reader, like a snapshot from the camera of my eyes. For now, I can hear the beast and its rasping as though it is just beyond the door. I don't want it to get me. At least, not yet.


	2. The Session

The Session

"Good morning, Max," the doctor announces as he walks into my room. The door shuts with a soft click behind him. I am sitting on my bed watching him closely. Shuffling his papers, he retrieves a manila envelope, which I imagine contains all my darkest secrets, and sits down at my desk without invitation. "Dr. Cooper" his nametag reads, clipped to his starched, white lab coat. I vaguely remember him from a few of his visits previously, as they are not always the same doctors. I don't mind him as much as say, Dr. Finway, but Cooper gets under my skin all the same with his probing questions.

"You're looking well," he starts with a smile. I, too, smile in response, manners ingrained even in madness, but say nothing. "Let's begin, shall we? It's been a while since you and I last spoke. From the notes it appears as though you have been addressing the issue of a 'beast'. Care to tell me about that?"

I frown. I repeat myself a great deal in these sessions; a thing that would not be an issue should the same doctor see to me. "What is there to tell? It breathes, I get scared."

"And what do you imagine this beast to be?" he asks.

"How am I supposed to know?" I reply petulantly. Dr. Cooper scribbles in his notepad. When he looks up his eyes are full of concern. "Often we are confronted by manifestations that occur due to past trauma. Let's discuss your childhood, shall we? What was it like?"

"You know I can't tell you that," I say, "I don't…I don't know what my childhood was like."

More scribbling. "Then let's turn our attention to the visions you claim are memories. Perhaps you have seen what you believe to be a mother and father figure?"

The questions are already coming fast and hard. My mind wonders to an old swing set and a young girl with long, brown hair, a little awkward, but bubbly and full of personality. We were dressed like pirates complete with eye patches and tricorn hats. Chloe… I feel calm, at ease in my own skin. I decide not to share my visualization. Instead, I simply shake my head.

The good doctor looks disappointed. "You were thinking of something, Ms. Caulfield. Care to share it?"

"I was just thinking, maybe I could go outside for a change," I answer, cautiously. Dr. Cooper registers surprise, but quickly recovers to mild irritation. "Max, please don't change the subject. I'd like to know what you were thinking. Was it about-" he stops. "If you cooperate with me, I'll see about having a supervised walk on the beach. How about that? Is that fair?"

I don't believe him, but my heart leaps at the suggestion. I opt to give him what he wants, mostly. "I was thinking of a moment when I was younger. I was with somebody; the face is a blur though. We were pretending to be pirates and I was happy, serene." He seems pleased, but takes a breath and I know what he's going to say.

"Sometimes the mind performs an avoidance mechanism when confronted by the suggestion of pain. Now, I asked you to picture your mom and dad and your mind goes to completely different scene. I am not saying it didn't happen, on the contrary, I believe some of your visions may be memories, as you say." I raise my eyebrows at this revelation. No doctor before has agreed that my visions could be memories of the past. They all dismiss me as some nutcase who makes things up to fill a void. He continues, "Max, I know you think we are out to get you, but we're not. I am going to prove it today that we are, in fact, here to help you. I tell you what, let's continue our session outside. Hang tight, okay?" As I don't have much of an option, I sit on my bed, heart pounding in my chest and watch him leave with all of his papers.

I could not relate how long it has been since I have felt the sun on my skin or the wind in my hair. Elation rises to the surface as I anxiously await his return. What if he really believes me? A boost of confidence revels in my soul. I start thinking about his previous question regarding the beast. It is possible if I cooperate, the doctors may be able to help me figure out the mysterious beast and then perhaps I won't be so scared. There is a knock on my door and Dr. Cooper returns with a triumphant grin on his face.

"Come on, Max, let's go outside," he said.

I know I had to have walked through the rest of the building to reach our destination, but the strangest thing is that I could not relay any information as to its appearance. My mind simply jumps from my room to the beach. Disconcerted by this information, I follow Dr. Cooper down to the shoreline in my bare feet.

All is soon forgotten when, much to my personal glee, my feet touch the sand and it does indeed feel like silk heated by the summer sun. It is not too hot, but just right, like a heated blanket in the dead of winter. The waves crash against the shore in a rhythmic fashion, a bit like the beast's breathing. Seagulls call overhead, swooping down occasionally into the deep blue sea. Per usual, there are no clouds in the sky, only dazzling rays from the sun at its zenith.

"Well," Dr. Cooper asks, "how do you like it?" I smile genuinely for what feels the first time in months, "It is perfect." I feel like volunteering all the information in my head without his behest, but I wait to see what he asks me.

"What does the ocean make you think of, Max?" I pause and ponder this question. "The beast," I reply, "The nature in which the waves come in remind me of its breathing."

"Does this bother you?" I shake my head. I pause again then speak, "I've heard the beast before. I don't know where and I don't know how, but it sounds familiar." Encouraged, the doctor nods and awkwardly writes in his notepad while walking. His papers and envelope are gone and only a small notepad remains in his hands. He doesn't say anything, waiting for me to continue. I feel awkward, exposed. "I…I still don't know what it could be. Sometimes I hear it outside of my dreams. I feel like it is coming for me." Dr. Cooper stops writing and glances at me.

We walk in silence for a stretch. I steal a look up at Dr. Cooper. He is what you would describe as a handsome man with short dark hair and a beard with a goatee type mustache, the manicured beard lining his jaw line perfectly. His dark rimmed glasses match his hair in a fashionable manner. I turn my gaze back to the coast, embarrassed for reasons I cannot describe. But like the beast, he too seems familiar. I desperately want to trust him, especially after this act of kindness, but there is something foreboding about him. I brush it aside.

"Do you believe the beast is real?" he asks.

"I don't know. I don't think so. But then again," I laugh and don't say anything else. Dr. Cooper doesn't laugh. "For some people, the differentiation between dream and reality can be hard to pin down. I believe this may be the case for you," he said, "I also believe there is something you're not telling me."

"Now you're changing the subject," I jab. Dr. Cooper smiles slyly. "I believe we may be going around in circles," he replies. "Tell me about your most recent vision, or dream, rather. I believe you told Dr. FInway it was about Arcadia Bay. Am I correct?"

I stop walking and sit down in the sand, pulling my gown tightly around me. "Arcadia Bay was my home, okay? And something happened to it. Look, I feel…I feel as if I have forgotten something huge. Something is missing from that town, from me, something important is gone and I don't know what it is. Maybe it has to do with the beast and it is haunting me. Maybe I did it. But the truth is that I just don't know what is going on. Why am I here? Who brought me here? How did I get here?" The words gush out of me in an avalanche of hysteria. Dr. Cooper crouches down and puts his arm around me. I feel like crying.

"Max, we have told you, you came here to rest, relax from life's hard calling. You got here the same way everyone else did-"

"Everyone else? I never hear or see anyone and how then? How did they get here? Why can't I remember anything?" I stammer. "You are," Dr. Cooper begins, reassuringly, "you are remembering." I start. "Really? Why are you the only one who believes these are memories?"

"You have to remember the position we are in as doctors. I will be frank with you as I think you deserve it. You are a patient who has troubles discerning fact from fiction. You can't tell us who you are or where you came from-"

"Arcadia Bay."

"Okay, Arcadia Bay. You can tell us that, but how do we know it isn't your mind covering for an awful truth?"

"You guys have said 'filling in'. What does that mean?"

Dr. Cooper hesitated. He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable in his current position. "It is apparent you have suffered trauma. When you arrived you were out of control screaming about- " he stopped, then started again as if distracted by a thought. "Listen, I know this is hard for you. I will explain to the best of my abilities. Filling in is what we deem as the mind's defensive mechanism to fill in holes created by afore mentioned avoidance. You block out certain memories and your mind fills in with new memories crafted from scraps of personal history or experiences."

"But you don't know what happened to me," I said flatly.

"No, Max, we don't. We are trying to sort through the muck to get to the root of the matter."

"Fine, then answer me this: Where am I?"

Dr. Cooper sighed and finally sat down in the sand next to me. He looked tired. "Max, you are in The Arcadian Institute for Wellness and Recovery, Arcadia, Oregon. I hate to tell you this, but we have never had an Arcadia Bay, at least not in recent years. There was an Arcadia Bay before you could have been born, wiped out by a tornado of unprecedented size and occurrence. So you see Max, filling in. Perhaps you read about it in a history book in school."

My heart dropped to my stomach. Arcadia Bay truly never existed for me. Then is Chloe a dream as well?

"Okay," Dr. Cooper said decisively, standing up and brushing himself off. "I believe we've had enough excitement for one day. What say we go inside and you rest up?" He helped haul me to my feet. I stood beside him in a dazed stupor, no longer aware of the world around me. As if by mere suggestion, I was alone, lying in bed with nothing but the shock of Dr. Cooper's news to keep me company.


	3. Insight

Insight

I need to write this before the medicine kicks in. The sun…it never sets here. How is that possible? The sun remains at its peak, giving the feel of midday. But, "Good morning, Max" they always say. Good morning. This place can't be real. I forget everything if I don't write it down. I remember names and faces, but all else escapes my brain. I forgot my trip to the beach, just like that. How many times have I been outside, seen the other side of that door, and simply do not recall.

I am panicking. There is a chorus of voices all around me, rising to a fever pitch. I cannot hear what they are saying; I am in a coliseum filled with people all screaming. What does this mean? There is a dull roar underlying the cacophony, peaking at a frenzied rate. Wind, it sounds like wind howling. I shut my eyes against the noise inside my head.

These realizations are splitting me open, my spirit raw. Nothing makes sense anymore and so help me, if ever I needed Chloe, my made up savior, now is the time. I've resolved she cannot exist, gone with my precious Arcadia Bay. That place was a fantasy issued forth from the depths of my mind to cope with whatever it is I am coping with. I am falling apart. Fear racks my nerves. Even with Arcadia Bay "gone" I still feel as though it is the key to what I have forgotten. Figuring out what I have lost is vital to my maintaining some scrap of mental stability.

Visions swirl in my head: Torrential rain, snow, an eclipse, images that frighten and confuse me. A girl named Rachel Amber sways in my mind's eye momentarily before being swept away by the deluge of information. Missing. Rachel Amber is missing. No, we found her. Chloe and I, we found Rachel Amber, right before… Chloe is the key. These are not visions, they are memories, regardless of what the doctors say.

If part of what Dr. Cooper says is true, Arcadia Bay was wiped out by a tornado. (Wind, rushing in my ears) Why do I feel responsible? If only I could turn back time to see what my past holds. I could see her again. But the sun never sets here. This place can't exist, this institute. If this place does not exist then I am dreaming, stuck in time and space.

I feel a tickle on my upper lip and reach up to discover blood. My head begins to pound, as though my mind were a drum being struck constantly. A reverberating illness overwhelms me to the point I think I am going to be sick. And like the beast, and Dr. Cooper, all familiar, this feeling, too, I have felt before. Kate, I saved you by myself.

I shake my head violently despite the pain. Disturbing thoughts that don't make sense spring to life. Who is Kate, how did I save her? And Rachel Amber… a shiver crawls its way up my spine as the image of a corpse in the beginning stages of decay comes to mind. A foul stench of sweet rot fills my nose. I gag.

Mercifully, medication began to creep into effect and my mind slowed. Like a pain being assuaged, my erupting madness subsides into a mild feeling of foolishness. Coasting through a rushing tide of emotion, I sit quietly on my bed, swallowing hysteria. I am struggling through coming to terms with my lingering confinement in a place existing somewhere beyond the parameters of reality. Even as I write, I am forgetting events that just occurred. The sun will set tonight, as it always does and my Arcadia Bay remains cozy in the recesses of my memories. I know this not to be true now.

I feel tears scalding my cheeks. In desperation I call out to anyone who can hear me. A response, the only response I would ever need, echoes back my name. Her sweet voice calls to me. My Chloe, my love. She can't be real, so I push her aside, but she is persistent in her power over my heart. Dizzy with fear, I heed her call.

"Max," she says, "Max, come to me. You need to wake up."

Calling, ever calling and I cannot answer. She doesn't seem to hear me this time. "I am awake," I cry, "Please…"


	4. The Lady

**The Lady**

In time, I imagine, recovery for all psychological ailments is possible. For what breaks the mind only means to create new barriers for the individual to overcome, allowing them to become even stronger. In theory, that is. Scar tissue is formed and a thick husk is created in place of the soft, malleable tissue once adorned by the aggrieved. What becomes of us after trauma inflicts its everlasting impressions on our souls? Do we simply carry on hiding the history or do we stare it down until terms are met and life can continue forward?

I am not the type to run, so I say. But run I do, on and on. These words sprint the pages for me, creating avenues of escape into a different realm than that of my afflicted mind. They run like blood, describing the impossible in thick, accented paraphrases. Iron on iron, I am crafting the truth in snippets of various algorithms to calculate my current state of affairs.

More than fitting, the lady came today. I need someone real I can talk to right now. Those doctors are lies (perhaps) and she, I am realizing, is familiar in the way that is starting to become habit. Unlike Dr. Cooper with whom I feel so ill at ease, she is a comfort, like a mother to a hurt child. She arrived in a skirt and polo t, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, looking all for the world like the summer's cover of Southern Living: Housewife edition.

"Good morning, Max," she said. I felt an odd twitch in my head I couldn't place, so I ignored it. "Good morning," I replied affably, despite my melt down recorded the night before. I was genuinely happy to see her and her smile lifted my spirits considerably from the dismal pit I couldn't and still cannot comprehend without my journal.

"What's wrong, honey? You're lookin' kinda off," she said, voice full of concern. I tried to smile, but found I could not. "Actually, I was just thinking how glad I am to see you. But, I want to talk to you about…about some things that have been happening," I responded.

"What's on your mind?"

I gave her my journal and sat on my bed quietly while she read through it. I watched her closely for any reaction, shock, fear, anger. Occasionally, she would raise her eyebrows or shake her head. She read it twice before lowering it slowly to my table with a contemplative air. "What do you think it means," I asked, almost impatiently.

She took a deep breath and deliberated carefully before answering. "I think you are close to recoverin' what you've lost. I don't know what that means for you, but you and I both know how important this is."

I think about this for a minute before asking, "What do you think about what Dr. Cooper said of Arcadia Bay?"

"Max, I lived in Arcadia Bay for many years. The tornado was devastatin', takin' a huge portion of my history and rippin' it to shreds. We got no warnin' besides the weather that week bein' unbelievable. I swear I'll never forget that snow. 80 degrees outside, can you believe it? And it was snowing!"

"Snow? Was there…was there an eclipse, by chance?" My voice trembled with apprehension. What little I did remember from yesterday included snow and an eclipse echoing in my mind's eye.

"Why yes, there was. How did you know? Ah, your visions. That and-" she flipped through my journal, "Rachel Amber. Now Max, I don't know how you know that name or knew about the weather changes, but let me tell you about Rachel-"

"She went missing, didn't she? From that school I keep seeing. But no, Chloe and I found her!" I interjected with alacrity. "Max," she soothed, "you're gettin' ahead of yourself. I know what you saw and I feel you should be careful takin' those visions at face value." I felt disappointment creep into my heart. "You don't believe me?"

"Oh, honey! I believe you know more than you think you do. You're insight is astoundin' includin' that into your own head. I think yesterday was important to your recovery in a way that nothin' else here could ever grant. What's more is that you are still holdin' onto Chloe."

"What do you mean?"

"Chloe is always by your side, and it's important you remain by her, even if you can't be there physically."

"No, what are you talking about?" I ask, alarmed, thinking of Chloe's words for me to wake up. A heart breaking expression shadowed the lady's lovely features for a moment as she looked at me. "I suspect you already know, Max. I know my Chloe speaks to you still and from what you've told me-"

"Wait, _your_ Chloe?" I asked, not quite dumbfounded, rather, shocked by the answer that should have been apparent to me long prior to this moment. The lady smiled gently. "You know we are here for you no matter what happens. I am flattered you should have picked me for this position and I suspect you'll need me again before this is all over." Her words rang in my ears, garnering a concern into life at my core. I tried to form her name on my lips but found I could not, though I knew it in a way familiarity breeds tranquility, or contempt in Dr. Cooper's case.

Nonetheless, delight shook my soul at the suggestion, no, the confirmation of Chloe's existence. "But why can she not come here? Why does no one else ever visit?" I beg.

"They would if they could, dear. No one can reach you here."

"What does that mean? Please…why can you come then? Where do you come from to get here?' My mind was tying itself in knots trying to reason through the cryptic answers she was giving me. I felt as if the solution was clear, but on the other side of oblivion. I suddenly got angry: Angry at her, the doctors, myself. I realized I needed answers more than anything and no one gave them to me straight as I asked. As if sensing my mood change, she shook her head and began to speak, "Max, please understand our position." The words echoed, reminiscent of Dr. Cooper's disclaimer. I felt my face go darker. She continued, "We are limited by your own reasonin'. We can only act as a soundin' board for self meditation."

A thought struck me, hard to swallow, feared to be true. "This place truly is impossible, making you all impossible as well. That means, you're not real…this means, oh God…" Panic clouded my voice and consumed my judgment. Tears brimmed in my eyes. She walked across the room and sat down next to me on my bed. I contemplated her weight next to mine and how she sunk into the mattress just as I do. She laid a hand on my shoulder. It felt heavy and real, just as I would imagine. She sighed. "We are very real, Max, to you and one another. We all have our own purpose to serve in this place, which to you, may seem impossible, but let me assure you, it _is_ very practical."

Her reasoning did not ease the anxiety in my chest. Instead, it sharpened. I suddenly wanted to be alone. Each new scrap of information was leading me to believe I well and truly was dreaming. A dream I could not escape, but to what end? If I wasn't dreaming, I was dead and stuck in a sort of purgatory where time and peace does not exist. For what was likely the hundredth time since my stay, I felt like crying. Imaginary tears in an imaginary world. Joyce shifted beside me and draped her arm around my shoulders, rubbing my arm. I stopped.

"Joyce," I muttered, 'Your name is Joyce. You are Chloe's mother." Joyce smiled broadly at me and I could see the beginnings of wrinkles lining her mouth and eyes. She seemed so real, down to every minute detail. "You're gettin' there, Max!" She gave me a tight squeeze. I could feel her next to me, warm and alive. I began to cry in proper.

"Why did Dr. Cooper say that Arcadia Bay was destroyed before I was born?" I asked suddenly through my tears. "Is that true?"

"No," she said, "But he didn't lie to you. Remember what I said: We all serve a purpose here. He is just doin' his duty as your doctor."

"How is he not lying if he misleads me to believe something untrue? Joyce, none of this makes sense," I sniffled pitifully.

"Avoidance comes in all shapes and sizes. Some manifest themselves into beings who taunt us," Joyce replied, sounding much like the doctors. "Like the beast," I said.

"Like the beast, yes. But more than that, you are avoiding the most important matter chaining you to this place. You have all the clues necessary to rid yourself of this purgatory."

So she agrees. This is purgatory. I am dead. When I said so, Joyce laughed. "No, Max, you're not dead. Not quite." I sniffled again and leaned into her. I needed a hug more than anything else, be it from a real or imaginary Joyce. We sat in silence, letting thoughts consume the empty space between us.

"Okay, honey, I need to go. Are you gonna be alright?" I stared at the ground in front of me, wondering if I really was going to be alright. I nodded anyway, but didn't say anything.

Joyce patted my arm again and stood up. "I'll see you later. Keep workin' at it, you'll get there." With that, she left. I sat on my bed staring absent mindedly at the same spot until my eyes went cross. I was left with questions and very little answers, but somehow still felt encouraged. Joyce said I had all the clues to sort out my mystery of what has been forgotten and I was determined to discover it. Tomorrow holds another session with the doctors, something I am dreading, but maybe I can get some answers out of them.


	5. A New World

**A New World**

Grinding exhalations issued from the darkness. Fear soaked me to the bone, dripping down my tingling nerves. I could feel it near, closer than ever and I had nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. I was trapped. Instinctively I stood still, waiting, hoping it would pass, but the beast seemed to remain motionless, never moving only breathing. My heart galloped in my throat. I was afraid the creature would hear my thundering pulse and come for me in the blinding abyss. I barely breathed.

A cold seeped into my skin, freezing my core and making me shiver uncontrollably. I clamped my mouth shut to keep my teeth from chattering. My palms felt clammy as sweat moistened them regardless of the mysterious cold.

"Max," Chloe's voice came, cutting through the blackness, "don't be afraid. I am right here. I swear I am not going anywhere."

"Chloe," I whisper, "Where are you?" Silence. I say her name a little louder, as loud as I dare.

"Max, my super Max, where have your powers gone?" Chloe asked into the abyss, choking out the demon's breathing. Confusion undermined fear in my heart. "Powers," I spoke, "What powers?"

"Now you're time's bitch, waiting for it to pass. You conquered the past, but look at you. Everyone is so powerless," Chloe said, voice trembling. "The mighty Max fell and now I wait to see if time will reverse itself, to see if you come back to life. Everything is so unfair! I sit and I whine but who knows what you're going through..."

The beast came back, stronger than ever, overpowering Chloe's words. "Chloe!" I screamed desperately. Rasping in my ear issued the command in my mind to run, run into the darkness blindly, praying for escape. I felt something in my throat gagging me; a tight squeezing, almost painful. As I ran I clawed at my throat, franticly trying to remove the offending sensation, finding nothing, only flesh. I tried to scream and found I could not, merely a rasping like the beast's issued from my closed throat. I briefly wondered at my ability to breathe, distracted by the sounds of the beast gaining on me.

I found suddenly that I was no longer running, but falling through empty space. Choking and flailing, I could find nothing to grab on to and air seemed to be escaping me. The sound of the beast was all around me now, raging in my ears. Life was precious and all was forgotten in the face of terror; terror from suffocation or being mauled alive, I didn't know. Louder and louder the beast came in the shadowed world. I felt the pressure of imaginary claws enclosing around me. This was the end.

I woke with a start to radiant beams shining through my little window into my small, white room. My pulse roared and my gown clung to my skin like saran wrap from the sweat currently dripping down my spine. The sounds of the beast resonated throughout the room, but no more than Chloe's words speaking of power and time. I pondered this information while I set about trying to regain control of my breathing. This was the first dream, to my knowledge, I could move or speak, much less be chased by my imaginary demon.

My dream lingered in my head, haunting the corners of my very existence causing me to cling to the feeling of gravity and other worldly objects to escape the imagined. I ran my hands along my sheets, feeling the soft fabric run smoothly underneath my hands. I vehemently wished I could forget what I just experienced as easily as my past had been forgotten.

Chloe had spoken of reversing time, in the context that I had the power to do so. This was something foreign, impossible, like this room and little window with the sun that never set. I had often wished I could reverse time to see what my life had been like prior to this "institute" but had recognized such as idle fancy. I reasoned that I would ask Joyce about this phenomenon next I saw her and bid it from my head in exchange for a bit of peace before the doctor's arrival.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and it opened to reveal my therapist for the day, Dr. Finway. He stood, framed in the doorway, tall and muscular beneath his white lab coat which seemed too small for his build. His dark hair was cut high and tight close to his head in a militaristic fashion complete with a mustache. He held his broad shoulders back with perfect posture indicative of an inherent pride. Walking into the room, he took one look at me and frowned.

"Good morning, Max," he said. That twinge in the back of my head again. "More dreams, am I to assume?" I nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?" I shrugged. Dr. Finway sighed and sat down heavily in my chair. I noticed he had no notepad or folders today. He'd come empty handed. He looked tired, as if suddenly the weight of the world were on his shoulders: A defeated soldier at the end of a long battle. I felt sorry for him underneath my irritation at his abrupt appearance and decided to play his game today. Besides, I was feeling peppy enough to get some answers and no medications were holding me back as of yet.

"It was of the beast and…someone from my past. But the beast chased me this time and I could move, so I ran," I offered. He perked up.

"Someone from your past? Chloe?"

I blinked at him, a little slack jawed. The doctors shouldn't know about Chloe, unless Joyce told them. I asked Finway as much. "No," he said, "we've known about Chloe for a while Max. You talk in your sleep."

"You watch me sleep?" I asked, alarmed and disgusted. He cocked his head at me as if surprised this would bother me. "We have cameras in all our patients' rooms. It is for your safety and ours," he replied in a nonchalant manner.

"You people watch me change and sleep, that's freaky, what the hell!" I exclaimed with repulsion. Dr. Finway shook his head. "One," he said, "patients tend to have privacy go out the window in hospitals and two, no one is watching you change. We do periodical check-ups on our patients during the nighttime and during sessions to ensure their safety."

"Yeah, you said that, our safety and yours etcetera. And you don't fool me anymore Finway. There is no such thing as nighttime here. The sun never sets, I have noticed that," I answered, boldly. Dr. Finway raised his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes at me. "The sun never sets? Care to explain how you came to this conclusion?"

"Look, all you people always say is 'Good morning, Max', never good evening or afternoon. Also, the sun, no matter how long I have been awake or asleep, the sun is always at its peak, like it is midday. When I fall asleep, it is noon, when I wake, it is noon, explain that doctor!" My voice rose with each word until I was nearly yelling at him. My idea for cooperation deteriorated with the notion I was monitored twenty four hours a day, if that was such a thing here.

"Calm down, Max. I am not here to fight or argue with you. I believe you are confused. You sleep many hours a day due to heavy medication meant to help stabilize your mental activity. It only seems to be noon, simply because it _is_ during your waking hours, which are few," he replied with placidity. "We come when you are awake so that you may be conscious enough to give us as straight of answers as you can muster. We would prefer not to wake you and try to question you, though that may be useful at some point."

"What do you mean useful?" I asked suspiciously.

"Useful as in you would give candid answers due to fatigue, the first answers to come to mind. Not contrived or well thought out answers in attempt to pacify out questioning, as you have done in the past. You try to hide things and make like we don't know."

Dr. Finway always had a manner that seemed hostile or as if he was always on the offensive. Nonetheless, I still had questions. His demeanor would not deter me. "So what you're saying is, I sleep through the day and night. I don't buy it," I said.

"Max, you don't have to buy it. It is what it is. Now, I want to hear more from you about Chloe. Why is she so special to you?" he demanded. The question took me off guard. The sudden shift in conversation came as a surprise and I was not prepared to talk to any doctor about Chloe and yet the words poured from my lips like a fountain.

"She is my life line, keeping me holding on. I want to let go so badly, I want to disappear, but then I hear her voice, no matter what she says or how much sense it makes, it keeps away the darkness. My visions or memories, whatever they may be, revitalize the pieces of me that I feel I have lost to whatever I have forgotten. She is my reason for moving forward, my light in obscurity. I love her, Dr. Finway, more than anyone will ever know and should I see her again…should I see her…" I falter. My words were so strong up until I spoke of seeing my Chloe. The very idea struck my heart like gong, reverberating pain throughout my nerve endings. It seemed like a farfetched notion and that hurt.

"What would you sacrifice to see her again?" he asked, ostensibly unperturbed by my outburst as if he expected it.

"Everything." The answer came easy to my lips as my own name. His thick eye brows knitted together on his forehead.

"Even a city full of people, Max?"

What kind of a thing was that to say? I wanted to answer "Of course!" but the words failed in my mouth. Something nagged at my brain. It was that something that held a resounding importance, all consuming and valuable. Arcadia Bay.

Arcadia Bay, the powers, the tornado, Dr. Cooper and his avoidance, Joyce saying I had the clues; suddenly everything was coming together in my mind. Abruptly, I was standing on the edge of a cliff face watching a town be demolished by a chimera of a tornado. Buildings gave way to wooden splinters, water in the bay rocked and raged up on the shores, ripping apart the fragile docks. I imagined I could hear people screaming, but the sound of the wind's howl was overbearing. Rain beat down like tears falling from the heavens. I reached my hand out to the blue haired girl next to me, my Chloe. All of this was for her. I had gone back for her, my powers granted from some other worldly being as a cruel, or kind, twist of fate and I had saved her from a lonely death at the hands of a coward. I had made a choice, a devastating choice that landed me in this place where time did not exist. I had chosen one life over many out of pure selfishness and need.

"Oh my God," I stuttered, unable to comprehend my racing thoughts. "This can't be true, this can't be possible…"

"Your mind is broken, Max. Could you really expect to survive such an affair in one piece? You were drugged and tortured, saw the decaying corpse of a missing student, chose your love over a city thriving with thousands of lives. What did you expect to happen?" Dr. Finway's tone had changed, almost accusatory. But what did I expect?

Bile rose in my throat. Panic reared its ugly head once more and my world began to shatter. Tears streamed unchecked down my face as I buried my head in my hands. A lot of people had died on my watch, I had allowed this. "But Dr. Cooper said…" I started.

"What?" Finway interrupted, "That Arcadia Bay was destroyed before you were born? He didn't lie, because in this world there is a grain of truth in his words."

"In this world?" I sniffled like a child. I needed Joyce, Chloe, anyone.

"You still don't understand, do you? You never did seem to get it, Max. Everything is not about you, but in this case it is. It is time for you to wake up," Dr. Finway's expression darkened and he stood up. I recoiled on my bed though he was on the other side of the room. He appeared larger than before. I did not feel safe in my own skin. Spiders were crawling in my head.

I dove under my covers to escape him, everything that was boiling in my mind. Images of a storm battled its way to the forefront of my mind's eye, the same vision I saw while standing with Chloe by the broken lighthouse. I heard my door open then shut and heard a rushing of footsteps to my bedside. I sobbed hysterically, not caring who was near me. My heart was wrenched from chest at the idea of losing so many lives at my hand. I was a killer and for her. But the worse of the realizations were that I would do it all again, simply to save my Chloe. How could this all be possible?

"Max, oh honey, are you alright?" Joyce's voice came floating through the covers to my ears. A light of peace shown just above the turmoil in my soul. I did not respond, for I could not in my current state. I felt her sit on the edge of my bed and lay her hands on me, whispering words of encouragement and sympathy.

"You discovered what you lost. Not how I or anyone intended, true enough, but you found it, Max. Relax now, everythin' will be alright," she said, attempting to assuage my agitation.

"Is all of this true Joyce? Did you know the whole time? Why didn't you tell me?" I cried.

"Yes, honey, it is true. We tried to steer you in the right direction, but we only knew as much as you knew."

"Stop with the cryptic bullshit," I sobbed, "What does that mean, Joyce? I am done with these word games."

Joyce sighed heavily as Dr. Finway had done earlier and produced a Polaroid picture from her pocket of Chloe sitting in a chair looking downcast at the floor. An odd subject for a photograph, but I was more concerned with her following words. "You still have pieces of your power, Max. If you remember, you've done this before. Focus on this picture and you'll find yourself beside her once more," she said, holding out the picture to me as I crawled out from beneath my covers. "You're correct in thinkin' you are in a place where time does not exist, at least not for you. But it is time to wake up Max." I was sick of things not making sense, but I agreed, it was time to escape this place.

Joyce handed me the picture and I looked at it. Casually at first but then it blurred. I had to stare intently to bring it into focus. My head began to buzz and I could hear people talking in the distance. I could not make out what they were saying. I heard Chloe's voice among them and reached out to her as much as I could, filling a mental gap.

Suddenly, I can't breathe. There is something in my throat. The beast is right next to me, exhaling. I open my eyes. Panic. My heart is thundering out of my chest. Where am I? Everything is impossibly bright. People, lots of people, looming over me. I cannot breathe! I try to reach up to pull at whatever is in my throat. Hands grab my arm and force it down. Yelling, they are yelling. Who are these people? I jerk my head violently. God, it is coming out of my mouth like a snake, clogging my throat. Someone forces my head back, clasping my jaw,

I feel a sudden sting and see one of the frantic people pulling back a syringe. Immediately there is warmth spreading through my limbs. My heart is slowing and I am not quite so dizzy with panic. The rasping has stopped. The hand holding my jaw tightens and I feel something climbing out of my throat. I gag.


	6. A Canary's Meditation

**A Canary's Meditation**

Everything in here is so sterile, white. A little like a cloud but harder and with no feeling. The tiles run unceasingly on the ceiling and floor, with little black lines in between them that I like to trace with my eyes. In my room there is a window. This window is a picture window, that's what they say. Mostly I see clouds moving like lethargic yachts along the Adriatic. Stars, you know, the kind that look like tiny dots, glitter in the blackness, appear between the clouds. And trees. I see trees with the rain that drops so heavily on each leaf. Here, it never seems to stop raining. I sympathize with the heavy trees. There is a constant weight somewhere in my head. I guess it never stops raining there either.

When they take me away from my window, they ask me questions. They never tell me why I'm here. Here, in this white place with no feeling. I answer them when they ask their foolish questions, sometimes. Really, a lot of the time I sit and stare at the floor. I don't like their eyes; probing and uncomfortable. There is so much I want to scream at them, in their faces. I want to see shock, alarm, feel what I am feeling! But they don't and I never do. So we sit and they ask their questions.

See, there is a world inside my head. But you know this. A madness has been crawling like a disease weaving a dream. Spiders in my mind. I'm so tired, so very tired, but sleep never comes. So I wait. I wait for the daylight, yeah and I wait for the sleep. I guess, just like I waited for you. No, I didn't mean to wait for you. I waited for you to see me, truly. I don't think you ever did. What would you have done if put in my shoes? Would the weight of _that_ choice tear you down as it did me? Or would you carry on like you did, so carefree?

Well that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is, it is getting hard. Not like it was before. They don't tell me, because they don't have to. I tried when I couldn't see anymore. I lost my way. They found me in the dark somehow. All I remember are bright lights, blinding and a ringing in my ears. People were yelling and someone was in my face. No words. Everything seemed distant. Straps and I couldn't move. A hand was on my chest, pushing. That face in front of me, leaning over, and the mouth moving words I could not understand. Urgency is a motion; a force of will exerted across an environment infecting every living being. This face conveyed urgency.

Well, now I'm here. I wasn't sure that I would be staying. So keep quiet. I have to, otherwise I will start screaming. I think of little yellow birds with blue crests singing in their cage. Do they see this cage? I feel the bars and I see them forming white tiles with little black lines. I'm a little yellow bird. See my crest? They won't open my cage. God, but I won't ever be free. Inside my head there are bars thicker than these four walls. Mortar brick and stone cannot compare. Behold the gates of Dis. In my mind, all I see scares me.

It's still in the way that I think. I never saw it coming. I could never be sure. What can I say? They tell me that I've been sick for far too long now. I try and tell them, sometimes when I speak and look into their probing eyes, why it hurts. Just like before, I could never put it into real words. I feel like I am standing in the center of a chaotic whirlwind. Within this wind there are thoughts, ideas, particles of my very being. And how I communicate, that is hard. I pull fragments out of the mist, do you see? Little bits of me en communique, but never the whole. Please don't take offense, try and understand. People say things are different in my mind. That's not really how it is. Everyone tells me I'm overreacting, that I need to calm down. I am broken, I _am_ in ruins. I try, I really do, I promise. I try- but it isn't me! I swear it. Deep down I wish things would change. I wish they could. They say- they _say_ it will with time.

Did you know you were my reason? For all things. Think of it. I don't know where I strayed. How could I? You, I suppose, were my Virgil. You waited for me and now I wait for you. But you led me here and here I stay. I destroyed a city for you; I destroyed my soul for you.

It was too much to bear alone and, well, I could have stopped. When it all became so intense, the walls came crashing down and I found myself without you. Inside, inside my head I found peace. But, it isn't crimson. Funny how they all say it is. I don't know, but it stains. It was an accident but then- I could have stopped. That night I was trying to drive away the sun with those razor blades and wine. Now, I wait for it.

Could it be that these thoughts stop just short of a purpose? Listen, I don't mean to draw it out. There in the sand, there is a line. I won't cross it, but it's all on you. I'll steal your imagery for a moment. We were there. You were singing and the fire was all over your skin. It was too hot but still we danced. I remember crickets and that music seemed so lovely but my chest felt like it was being ripped apart. Just think how near the night became. Getting serious now. I could have stopped. I'm not complaining.

These are the things they are trying to draw out of me. Memories, the ones I hold so dear. And not just of you. Modesty and humility were never your strong point. Now, this place and my window, with its stars, trees and rain, and white tiles and sterility, have a certain charm. It isn't as bad as I'm making it seem. Really, there's nothing quite wrong with it. This lady in particular comes in and sits with me. I talk to her because I trust her in my way. How could I not? She has seen me at my worst, most vulnerable. Her voice is warm, makes me think of brown sugar and honey. She is _joie de vivre_. Anyway, we talk and I tell her about my world. She says that I have a gift for story-telling. Maybe she's right, but she doesn't know how she gets me out of my own head.

Mostly, I sit in my room and stare out my window, waiting. It gets to me sometimes, that darkness and the rain. We all have a darkness, I know. My heart starts racing, adrenaline pounding through my veins and a rush of blood to the head, well that's I know it is coming. I will squeeze my eyes shut, tightly, against the emotion. I hate crying. I try to never do it. But sometimes, -God- sometimes, I can't help it. It is forced out of my body and leaves me gasping for air. I feel like I'm drowning. Yeah, I guess I am. I feel like I am losing it, the finite control that I have deluded myself with over the years. Those images that come, you know the ones that leave me screaming. I have to deal with it alone. That is what they said. Once I conquer my fears, everything will be on the mend. My fears are all in my head, and it's okay. I know it isn't real. But it _feels_ real and that is all that matters.

That is where they make that mistake. A thought, a feeling, is the most important to a person. Reality is, after all, how one perceives it. Everyone is okay with seeing a different color, or interpreting art in a different manner. Well that is being unique. Yes, but once someone starts seeing objects or hearing music that _isn't_ there, now we have a problem. Perhaps it isn't that one person's reality that is altered. Maybe it is everyone else's.

The beast is gone. Well, now I know what it is. Funny how things creep into your mind like ivy. I couldn't breathe, but the beast was there breathing for me in my reverie. But now, I don't remember my dream, the one that had me captive for so long. You were there, a dream within a dream. So how did I miss you?

Well, I had a conversation today with my _joie de vivre_. How, she asked, can you _not_ see the beauty in life? This question again. And the list goes on. There _is_ beauty, but the darkness over shadows it, don't you understand? Don't _you_ understand? No one can get me, and I don't know why. I am not alone in life. I never was. But this weight- the trees and the never ending rain- brings me down. Even I bend under this colossus. She shook her head at me and replied, "Now hear me, little canary. You want freedom. You are safe, here within these walls. Let go of your imagined world. Soon, please believe me, those bars will melt away and that colossus will become a thing of the past. True enough, your cage is in your own mind. No one has to reach you. You have to realize that things can change. Slowly, but one step forward every so often and eventually you will look back and see you have walked a mile. Then, you will take longer strides and eventually be sprintin'. Even without this place, you can do this. With assistance, you can see beyond the shadows of your mind and understand reality, even as it is perceived by others, or alone, perceived by you. You cannot look in the mirror and say 'I am happy. I am optimistic' and expect that to be so. Baby steps, canary, that is all I ask."

I need her like I need you. I love you, if I haven't made that clear. I saved you at the price of my own sanity. I am aware enough to know what I have done, to myself and others. And I would do it again. I need these four walls to keep me from myself. Is it keeping me from you?

But a knock on my door and you come in. Did you know I've been waiting? "Super Max," you say with your sultry voice, "you woke up." I forced myself to sleep away the nightmares binding me to that living hell. The one where I am a murderer, surely you remember. But you say, "You don't have to tell them what you did for me, otherwise you're never getting out of here. What I'm saying is, you have to let it go, but that will come with time. I know you are broken, but let me mend your wings and we will fly together again. Together, Max, you and me, we took on the world now let's take on your demons." I say nothing, only move to you, happy because your face is as beautiful as I can remember. I throw my arms around your neck and hold on as tight as you will allow. I am never you letting go.

Even as I write, I am looking out my window. It is still raining, and the trees look so tired. But something is different. I see more stars. They are making the leaves shimmer with the rain drops sparkling like diamonds. There are beautiful things in this world. Perhaps I will tell _them_ that when they ask me.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It has been three years since my release from the hospital. As it turns out, I was airlifted to Providence in Portland shortly after Chloe discovered my near lifeless body in the bathtub of our small apartment. After waking up, I was then transferred to a psychiatric hospital in Lakewood, Washington. I had fallen into a comatose state, they believe, due to a loss of blood. I am not sure I believe that. The weight of all of my decisions and experiences culminated into my mind simply snapping. Either way, I came out of it alive and mostly well.

Chloe and I moved away from Oregon and took what little pieces of our lives remained to start a new life on the east coast. She is watchful over me, ensuring I don't have a relapse, but we are taking measures ever so cautiously just in case. I am continuing therapy with a rather nice doctor in our new town of Asheville. The mountains seem a welcome change to the coastal life we once led and provide a new atmosphere to my recovery.

I still have nightmares, of course. I dream of friends' faces still and lifeless in the midst of the deadly tempest. I try to save them, but to no avail. Chloe refuses to tell me who escaped the tragedy of Arcadia Bay and who didn't, but I am thankful her mother survived. Joyce has been vital in my healing, coming with my parents every so often to visit us. I am careful with my words and how much I relate to them lest I should wind up in another psychiatric ward due to exposing my true beliefs of how history went down. People likely would not be open to the idea of my causing the storm of a century due to powers that can rewind time. Even as I write those words they seem unbelievable. If it weren't for Chloe who experienced that chaos right along beside me, I would think myself a nut job.

Speaking of my powers, they are gone, as far as I can tell. I experimented with an attempt to rewind time after breaking a plate while doing dishes. Much to Chloe's chagrin it was a no go. Where ever my powers came from, they disappeared just the same without a trace. I believe they only existed to save Chloe, something I am perfectly happy with.

We speak of the future with hope. My recovery is a slow one, but Chloe remains beside me no matter how many break downs I have or how hysterical I become. As it turns out, she now can see me for where I truly am in life and my emotional turmoil. I am grateful for her. More than that, as I work through the sludge of my past, I reason that no matter how bad things get or have gotten, I would make the same choices over and over again if it meant Chloe being by my side. Yes, I destroyed a city and myself in the process, but to me, she is the most important being in the world. I will continue to move forward, despite my lingering madness, but that is to be expected in light of what unfolded in Arcadia Bay. We will continue to live with hope and revel in the normalcy that is daily existence. Because, trust me, nothing interesting ever happens in Asheville, North Carolina.


End file.
